VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER NINETEEN.
"WHAT HAS THE WORLD BEEN SINCE?--THEE ALONE!"
One of the most blissful delusions, and unaccountable withal, underwhich a man desperately in love invariably labours, is the profoundunconsciousness of his state wherewith he credits those among whom helives and moves. What renders the delusion all the more inexplicable isthe certainty that its victim himself in his unsmitten days must havefrequently spotted more than one of his friends labouring under theravages of the intoxicating malady, or at any rate his feminine kinsfolkand acquaintance were not slow to make the discovery for him. Yet whenhis own turn comes he may, with absolute certainty, be counted upon toimagine that his own incoherencies of speech and action, in short, allthe symptoms of acute delirium entirely escape the multifold optics ofthe Argus feminine; and that his Beeret remains all his own, soeffectually has he guarded it. Which thing, by the way, no _man_ eversucceeded in accomplishing yet.
Lilian was singing; a sweet pathetic ballad, rendered with infinitefeeling. The song ended; a final chord or two; and the singer threw itaside and turned away from the piano.
"Thanks, Lilian. Why, my child, you sing like an angel," said herhostess, moved almost to tears by the full, rich voice which, keepingwell within its compass, fills the room just so much as it will bear andno more, while every word is as distinctly enunciated as though thesinger were reciting it. Even Mr Brathwaite had forgotten to fall intohis post-coenal doze, and sat upright in his arm-chair, wide awake andlistening.
The three above mentioned are alone in the room this evening--yet stay--there enters a fourth. He had been standing quietly in the doorwayduring the song, and refrained from entering, for fear of disturbing thesinger. He had been obliged to go out after supper to give some ordersto Xuvani about the morrow, and returning, was surprised and entrancedby the sound of Lilian's voice in song. So he stood in the doorway,drinking in every note.
"Why, you vowed you never sang," he exclaimed, reproachfully, advancingto the piano. "And then you wait until a fellow is out of the way, andthis is the result."
She turned to him with the most bewitching of smiles. "Well, I don't,"she replied, in a deprecatory tone. "At least, I haven't for a long,long time, and now I'm only trying over something I picked up the otherday. Just by ourselves, you know."
"Having carefully waited till I was out of the room."
"Perhaps I was just a little bit shy, from being so long out ofpractice," answered she, with a glance that would have melted a stone.
But her auditor, though stony enough in all other respects, was wax inher hands, and her glance thrilled through him like an electric shock.She had penetrated the one weak joint in his armour most thoroughly.Did she know it?
"Shyness, like all other weaknesses, should be conquered," he rejoined."The best way of conquering it in this instance is to sing that overagain. Just by ourselves, you know."
"But Mrs Brathwaite won't thank me. She must have had enough of it,"objected Lilian, with a laugh.
"Enough of it!" exclaimed the old lady. "My dear child, I would haveasked you myself but I didn't quite like to. Now do. Arthur hasn'theard the first part."
Thus adjured, she gave way; but this time the shyness to which she hadpleaded guilty, made itself manifest by an occasional slight tremor inthe sweet, clear voice. Which, however, rendered the pathetic balladall the more entrancing to her new auditor.
There was silence for a minute when she had ended Claverton broke it.
"That's the loveliest thing I ever heard."
"What! Did you never hear it before?"
"Never. But I don't care how soon I hear it again."
"Now we must have something cheerful," said Lilian.
"But it will counteract the other."
She laughed.
"Just what it should do. What, Mr Claverton? _You_ get the dismalsover a song? Won't do at all." And without giving him time to reply,she rattled off a lively little ditty, doing full justice to the spiritand archness of the composition.
Ethel and Laura were away, spending two or three days with the Naylors,and to-night Hicks had taken himself there, too; thus these two and theold people had the house to themselves. To one of the quartett thatafternoon was to be marked with the traditional white stone. Adeliciously long walk with Lilian, unhindered and unrestrained by thepresence of any third person. She had talked freely about the old home,and her eyes had brightened, and her cheeks had glowed with theloveliest flush, while on that most congenial of topics. Yet a thornbeneath every rose. Never could she revert to the favourite subjectwithout that indefinable moment of restraint coming in. Again thisafternoon it had gone home to her companion, strengthening the resolvewhich he had already formed.
The door stood open. Attracted by the beauty of the night, Lilian wentout on the verandah.
"Better have a shawl, my child; you'll catch cold," said MrsBrathwaite.
"A shawl!" she echoed. "Dear Mrs Brathwaite, I should be roasted.It's as warm almost as at midday."
"Yes, it's a regulation summer evening," said Claverton, following heron to the _stoep_. "And a light one, too, considering that there's nomoon."
"I do think you get such glorious starlight here," continued Lilian."An English starlight night is the feeblest of misty twinkles, incomparison. What's that?" as a luminous spark floated by. "A firefly?"
"Yes. There are lots of them about. Look! there's another."
"What do they look like, close? Couldn't we catch one?"
"Oh, yes; nothing easier. I'll get Hicks' butterfly net, it's only inthe passage. Now then," he went on, returning with the implement,"which shall it be? There's a bright one. We'll go for him." Sosaying he made a dexterous cast, ensnaring the shining insect. Theirquest had led them some twenty yards from the house.
"They are not so brilliant as I thought," remarked Lilian, as theyinspected the captive. "It's rather an insignificant-looking thing,"she continued, allowing the insect to crawl over her delicate palm."Let's take it to the light."
This didn't suit Claverton's purpose at all. "It won't shine there," hesaid, "and you'll be disenchanted with it, and--Ah! It's gone." Forthe creature, evidently thinking it had instructed them enough in a newbranch of entomology, suddenly opened its wings and soared off among theorange trees.
"It's a perfect shame to go indoors on such a night as this," murmuredLilian, half to herself.
"No earthly reason exists why we should," replied her companion. "Atleast not just yet. Let's stroll round the garden."
"Shall we? But what will Mrs Brathwaite say?" added Lilian, dubiously.
"Say? Oh, nothing. The dear old couple generally drop off in theirarm-chairs of an evening, when Ethel isn't here to make a racket; butto-night you have charmed them back from the land of Nod with thosedelicious songs. Come along."
She yielded, and they wandered down the garden path in the starlight.
But Claverton was out of his reckoning, for once. The "dear old couple"in this instance happened to be wide awake, and were discussing him in amanner that was very much to the point.
"Walter," began Mrs Brathwaite, when the voices outside were out ofearshot, "I'm greatly afraid Arthur has lost his heart in that quarter."
"Bah!" replied her husband, with a good-natured laugh; "not he.Arthur's made of tougher stuff than that. And," he added, "you womenthink of nothing but match-making."
"But I tell you he has," persisted she, ignoring the latter insinuation."Now look here. For the last fortnight he has been a changed man. Ican see it, if you can't. Why, he hardly speaks to any one else whenLilian is there. Every moment that he is not at work he is in thehouse, or in the garden, or wherever she is. For some days he has beenlooking pale and worn, and no wonder, for he doesn't eat enough tosupport life in a child of three years old. And he has become, for him,quite captious and irritable. Now," she concluded, triumphantly, "doyou mean to tell me all this is only my imagination?"
"Well, perhaps you are right," answered the old settler, reflectively."But somehow I've almost thought, of late, he was rather fond of Ethel."
"That's because you're not a woman," rejoined his wife. "Now I neverthought so. And I've noticed what I've been telling you ever since thenight of the dance, that is, ever since the day after Lilian's arrival.You'll see I'm right."
"Not sure I don't hope you are. It would be a good thing for both ofthem. She's one of the sweetest girls I ever saw, as well as theprettiest. And to be thrown upon the world like that, gaining herlivelihood by hammering a lot of dirty, uproarious brats into shape--it's abominable; and if it is as you say I heartily congratulateArthur."
Mrs Brathwaite laughed rather dubiously. "Not so fast," she said, "I'mby no means sure that Arthur will find it all plain sailing. Mark mywords, that girl has a history, and she isn't to be won by any chancecomer. Ah, well; we shall see."
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Meanwhile the objects of their discussion are wandering on beneath theorange trees, even as they had done barely a fortnight ago for the firsttime.
"You are highly entertaining, I must say," remarked Lilian, amusedly,when they had strolled some hundred yards further in absolute silence."I suppose I ought to offer you the regulation penny."
"You must make a much higher bid, then. I was thinking of what you havejust been singing."
"Really now? I should never have thought you were so easily impressed."
"I don't know. There is a world of pathos in that composition. Thosefew lines contain the story of two people who might have been happy.Why weren't they? Because it pleased a beneficent Providence--beneficent, mark you--to decree otherwise, and so Death put in his oar.Now if all hadn't been going well with them, it isn't likely thatProvidence would have been so accommodating."
There is a brusque harshness in his tones which causes his listener toglance up at him in surprise and dismay, and she can see that hisfeatures are haggard. She is even alarmed, for she remembers hearingvaguely that her companion's life had been a stirring and chequered one.Has she now unwittingly rasped some hidden but unforgotten chord? Itmust be so, and she feels sorely troubled.
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They are standing on the brink of the little rock-bound pool where theylingered and talked on the night of the dance. Almost mechanically theyhave struck out the same path and wandered down it, but this time nodeadly foe dogs their footsteps. They are alone; alone in the dim hushof the African night. Overhead the dark vault is bespangled with itsmyriads of golden eyes, which are reflected in the still waters of thepool, and the Southern Cross flames from a starry zone. Now and then alarge insect of the locust species sends forth a weird, twanging notefrom far down the kloof, but no sign of life is there among the_spekboem_ sprays, which sleep around them as still as if cut out ofsteel.
He picks up a pebble and jerks it into the pool. It strikes the surfacewith a dull splashless thud, and sinks. A night-jar darts from beneathone of the fern-fringed rocks and skims across the water, uttering awhirring note of alarm.
"Hadn't we better be going back?" hazards Lilian, at last. Anxious towithdraw from the dangerous topic, she takes refuge in a commonplace."It was rather late when we came out."
Claverton is standing half turned away from her--his face workingcuriously as he looks down into the water. For a minute he makes noanswer; then he faces round upon her, and his voice, hoarse and thick,can scarcely make its way through his labouring throat.
"Lilian, Lilian--my darling--my sweet--my own sweetest love. For God'ssake tell me what I would die at this moment to know?"
He has taken both her hands in his and is gazing hungrily down into thelovely eyes. She gives a slight start of unfeigned surprise, and he cansee the sweet face pale in the starlight. Trying to speak firm shegently repeats her former question: "Hadn't we better be going back?"
Can he read his fate in her eyes? Do those gentle tones echo hissentence? It seems so.
"No," he replies, with all the vehemence of a foregone cause--thepassion of shattered hope. "No--not until you have heard everything."His arms are around her now, and she cannot stir from the spot if shewould, but she does not try. "Listen," he goes on, speaking in a low,quick, eager voice. "Since the very first day I saw you I have lovedyou as no woman was ever yet loved. From the first minute, from thefirst glance I caught of you that day you flashed upon me like an angelof light. Stop. It is true, so help me God, every word of it,"--forshe started as if in surprise. "From the very first moment. Couldn'tyou see it? Couldn't you even see it that first day?"
"No--I could not," is her earnest answer. "I vow to you I could not. Ihad no idea of--of anything of the kind. I would have gone away fromhere at once--anywhere--sooner than have wrecked your peace! And nowthis is what I have done. Heaven knows I never intended it!"
The sweet eyes are brimming with tears as she stands with bent headbefore him, and Claverton is convulsed with a wild, helpless yearning.The first thought is to comfort her.
"Don't I know that? Heavens! The intention is a mere superfluity. Onehas only to see you to love you. Can the sun help shining?"
She looks up at him. "Then you believe me? It would be dreadful tome--the thought that you could imagine I had trifled with you."
"I could not think so. It would be an impossibility," replies he. Forthe moment he almost forgets the death blow which she has dealt to hisown hopes, in his great eagerness to set her at ease with herself, toreassure her. Forgets? No. Rather he rises above himself.
"Listen, darling. Every day since you came here I have only seemed tolive when with you. I have never been a fraction of a moment away fromyou if I could possibly have been near you. Night after night through Ihave lain awake, restlessly longing for morning that I might look uponyou again, and then when I have left you to go about the day's work, howI have treasured up the last glance of those dear eyes, the last ring ofthat sweet voice, till the very air seemed all sunshine and music.Lilian, darling, I never can live again without you, and--by God, Inever will."
He pauses; his voice failing him. The expression of his face as hehangs upon her reply is terrible to behold. It might be compared tothat worn by a convicted murderer when the return of the jury to givetheir verdict is announced. And this is the man who, at a comparativelyearly age, has looked upon many a harrowing scene of human sufferingunmoved, who has thoroughly steeled himself against all the tendererfeelings of nature, ever presenting a cold philosophical front to thefortunes, good or ill, of himself or of his neighbours. Who would knowhim standing there, ghastly white, the whole of his being shaken to thevery core? Yet but a few days have wrought this change.
She makes no answer at first, for she is silently weeping. Then with aneffort she looks at him, and her face wears an expression of unutterablesadness.
"Hush! You don't know what you are saying. You must never talk to melike this again. Try and forget that you have done so. Remember what ashort time you have known me. How can you know anything of me in afortnight?"
His answer is a harsh, jarring laugh. "Forget what I have been saying?Only a fortnight? Is everything to be subject to the unalterable ruleof thumb? Only a fortnight! My love--my life; do you remember thefirst time we were here together? I could have told you even then, whatI am telling you now. Do you remember telling me about yourself; howyou were all alone in the world--you? Only say the word and your lifeshall be without a care--all brightness and sunshine, and such love.Listen, my own! I, too, am alone in the world. I have never found anyone to love--it has all been treasured up--kept for you. Now, take it.Lilian, Lilian, it cannot be that--you--will not?"
His voice sinks to a fierce, passionate whisper, and he holds her to himas if he would never let her go. Above, in the sky, a lustrous meteorgleams--and then fades. A flight of plover, rising from t
he ground,circles in the gloom, with soft and ghostly whistle, and all is still,save for the beating of two hearts. Around float the fragrant breathsof the rich, balmy night.
"I can give you--no--comfort," she replies, dropping out her words as ifwith an effort. "Oh, why did you ever tell me this? Do you think it isnothing to me to see you made wretched for my sake? I tell you it isheart-breaking--utterly heart-breaking. Yet it cannot be. You mustnever, never talk to me like that again. And you have given me all thebest of yourself," she exclaims, the very depth of sadness in her tone,"and I--can give you--nothing!"
"Nothing?" he echoes, mechanically, looking down into the white, sadface, out of which every trace of its usual calm serenity hasdisappeared, leaving a weary, hopeless expression that is infinitelytouching. "Ah, I can see that your life has not been without its soretroubles. It is not for me to pry into them."
"I can give you this amount of comfort, if it be any comfort," she says,throwing back her head with a quick movement and fixing her eyes on his."I look back upon the hours which I have spent in your society as anunmixed pleasure, and I look forward to many more, selfish as I am indoing so. I formed my opinion of you the very first few moments we weretogether--and our first meeting was a queer one, was it not?" with a sadlittle smile at the recollection. "That opinion is unchanged, except,perhaps, for the better. I cannot bring myself to forego your society,though it is only fair to warn you that I can give you no hope; and youmust never ask me to. Are the conditions too hard?"
"No, they are not."
Her words had a soothing effect upon her listener, and he began to see agleam of light. He was not indifferent to her as it was, and, given theopportunity, he would make himself absolutely indispensable. Moreover,it was just possible that he had been premature in his declaration.Yes, more time and opportunity; that was what he wanted--and he wouldsucceed. Determination, which had never yet failed him, should effectthat--determination, combined with patience. He would not even ask herher reasons for refusing him now. No; he would trust her absolutely andwholly, and take not only her but her cares, whatever they might be.And at the prospect of a contest, a strife with circumstances, thoughthe odds were dead against him, his spirits revived.
"Promise me one thing," he said. "You will not avoid me in any way?"
She hesitated.
"No, not in any way," she repeated at last.
"And all shall be as it has been?"
"Yes." Then after a pause: "We must really go in."
He released her, and they moved away, but her steps were unsteady. Thestrain had told upon her, and she felt weak and faint. Quickly hepassed his arm round her. "No, not that," she said, gently, but firmly."I will take your arm, if I may." And in silence they retraced thebush path and entered the little gate, then through the orange gardenover the runnel of water where they had stood that night whenaccidentally watched by Ethel. A light was burning in the room as theyentered, and in an arm-chair eat Mrs Brathwaite, fast asleep, her lordhaving retired half an hour ago.
"Why, Lilian!" she exclaimed, starting up. "You have been out a longtime! I hope you haven't caught cold, child!"
"Oh, no; it's such a warm night. We have been astronomising," repliedshe, with an attempt at a laugh which fell mournfully flat; but the oldlady was too sleepy to detect its hollowness.
"Well, better get to bed. I suppose you'll do the same, Arthur, now youhaven't got any one to sit up and smoke all night with." For Hicks wasaway, as afore stated.
"No, I don't feel restful. Good-night. Would that to-morrow were herenow!" he added, in a low, tender voice as he held Lilian's hand in alingering clasp. A responsive pressure, and she was gone.
He withdrew to his quarters--to bed, but not to sleep--and hour followedhour as he lay with his gaze fixed upon the square patch of golden starsbounded by the framework of his open window. Well, the die had beenthrown at last. He knew where he was now, at any rate. But it was toosoon to despair, for had he not close upon two months wherein to makethe most of his opportunities? Determination should win, as it alwayshad in his case. Ah, but this was outside all previous experience.Well, they had still nearly two months together. Then he began towonder whether he was actually undergoing this feeling, or if it werenot a dream from which he would presently awaken.
He started up from a fitful and disturbed doze before dawn, and resolvedto go for a ride. He would go down to the vij-kraal and count outUmgiswe's flock.
During the night the sky had become overcast, and now, as he rode alongin the grey dawn, dark clouds were lowering to the very earth, and themist swept in powdery flakes through the sprays of the bush. It was athoroughly depressing morning, and the horseman's reflections werecoloured thereby. And through the chill drizzle seemed to echo thefar-off tones of a sweet, low voice: "I can give you no comfort. Youhave given me the best of yourself, and I can give you--nothing."
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We allow that to sheep from disappointed love is something of atransition. Nevertheless, the incident which occurred at the shepherd'skraal that morning must be narrated, because it is not without itsbearing on the future events of our story.
"Now, Umgiswe, turn out, and let's count," said Claverton, making aslash with his whip at a couple of lean, ill-looking curs, which sneakedsniffing round his horse's heels. "Eh--what's that you've got there?"as the Kafir, having saluted him, began fumbling about with something onthe kraal fence.
"Two dead sheep," answered the old fellow, producing a couple of skins,with the air of a man who has triumphantly vindicated his characteragainst all aspersions.
Claverton examined the skins narrowly. Having satisfied himself thattheir sometime wearers had died of disease, and had not been slain toappease the insatiable appetites of Umgiswe and a few boon companions,he proceeded to count out the flock. The score was correct.
"All right, Umgiswe; here's some smoke for you," he said, throwing theold herd a bit of tobacco. "But I say, though--whose dogs are those?"
The Kafir glanced uneasily at the curs aforesaid.
"A man who slept here last night left them. They are sure to go afterhim. He has not been long gone."
"No," replied Claverton, carelessly, "he has not been long gone, orrather _they_ have not been long gone, for they are still here. Turnthem out, Umgiswe." For his ear had detected the sound of several malevoices in the hut as he passed its door.
"Whouw!" exclaimed the old man, turning half aside to conceal anembarrassed smile. "They are my brothers, _'Nkos_. They just came tovisit me."
"Of course they are. If the half of Kafirland were to turn up here theywould all be your brothers, just come to visit you. It won't do. Soturn them out, you old shuffler, and let's have a look at them."
Then the intruders, to the number of three, who had been attentivelisteners to the above confabulation, turned out and saluted Claverton.All three were finely-made fellows, but the elder was a man of almostherculean build. His powerful frame, which was scantily clad, wassmeared from head to foot with red ochre; above his left elbow he worean armlet of solid ivory, and from his appearance he was evidently a manof rank. In his hand he held a couple of kerries made of heavyiron-wood; one of his companions was similarly armed, while the thirdcarried a bundle of assegais.
Claverton looked them up and down, noting every detail in their personsand weapons. "Loafers all three, and up to no good," was his mentalestimation of them, "but devilish awkward customers to tackle. Nevermind. Off they must go--quietly or the reverse--but go they must."Then he asked them the usual questions--where they came from, where theywere going, and so on--they being ready with an answer of which he knewexactly how much to believe.
"Came only last night, did you? That is strange, because the eveningbefore and all day yesterday there were three Kafirs here, and one ofthem was a tall man with an armlet on, and _they_ had a couple of yellowdogs with them. How queer that exactly
the same thing, should happentwo days in succession!" he said in a quiet, bantering tone. In pointof fact he was drawing a bow at a venture, but could see by the shiftyeyes of the man to whom he was speaking that the shaft had gone home.
This fellow grinned and shook his head with an exclamation of intenseamusement.
"_Inkos_ must be _Umtagati_," [one who has dealings with magic orwitchcraft] he said, "to see all that went on when he was not here."
"_Umtagati_? Well, perhaps," was the easy reply. Then, fixing his eyeson those of the tall chief, who had been regarding him with a haughtyand indifferent stare, Claverton went on in the same easy tone. "Whatdo _you_ think, Nxabahlana?" He addressed, started perceptibly. Howdid the white man know his name? "What do _you_ think of _Umtagati_?But listen. No one has any right loafing here without permission fromthe _Baas_ up yonder. So now, off you go, all three--now and at once,or you'll assuredly come to grief. And, be careful, for remember: _Theblack goat dies and the white goat lives_."
"Whouw!" cried all four, unable to conceal their amazement. Then,without another word, one of the fellows diving into the hut, returnedwith the light impedimenta belonging to the three, and with their cursat their heels, the Kafirs strode off. Just before they entered thebush the chief turned and gazed fixedly at Claverton for a minute. Thenthey disappeared.
"All right, my friend. I shall know you again when next we meet." Thento the old herd, who stood holding his stirrup: "Those men must not comeback, Umgiswe. And I tell you what, if you go harbouring any moreconspiring loafers you'll get into trouble." And he rode away.
The Fire Trumpet: A Romance of the Cape Frontier Page 19